


Bed Head

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so, there was a pic on tumblr where Clara stumbles out of the TARDIS at the start of Deep Breath</p>
<p>this is my take on that - however, I am completely stuck on the middle of the story - so, I am giving you the start and end, and relying on you to make helpful suggestions.....</p>
<p>otherwise, off to fragments this goes</p>
<p>thank you</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bed Head

**Author's Note:**

> if you don't want to "comment" - please, please, email
> 
> oh and the boxers were from another very helpful tumblr pic

You can’t always get what you want

"Egomaniac – follows their own ungoverned impulses and is possessed by delusions of personal greatness and feels lack of appreciation.... I’ll just leave that there, shall I?"

This was not happening. She was not a control freak. But. This. Was. Not. Happening.

She had him back, her Doctor, he was here right in front of her. The man she absolutely didn’t fall in love with several times a day. The man utterly intertwined with her own existence. NO! This. Was. Not. Happening.

Her breath stopped, her heart stopped, her mind stopped.

He was regenerating.

He was there, young and whole and then he was gone, and there was a stranger standing in his place. A confused, angry, stranger.

But it was still him, there was never a point when she wouldn’t recognise him. Or that was what she told herself, emphatically. She was not remotely scared.

“Do you happen to know how to fly this thing?” 

That was infinitely reassuring. Maybe she should work on suppressing her interior monologue and sarcasm.

And then they were crashing. Why on earth he couldn’t have stayed inside, used the scanners, used the view screens – but no, he had to go outside. Always the explorer, always the investigator, Mr Nosey Parker...

“Well this is marvellous.” He twirled round encompassing the surrounding landscape with a sweep of his arms, and promptly pitched forward. Clara grabbed him. 

Clara wasn’t convinced anything was marvellous at the moment. The humidity was playing havoc with her hair, and the thing she had decided on as being a large, rather ugly bird on second glance appeared to be a very, very large mosquito.

He strode forward with the inevitable words “don’t wander off.” She really felt she should be saying that to him.

“Don’t you think...” was cut off with a peremptory “Shush!” and a raised hand. At which point the reason for the shushing became obvious. They were standing in front of simply overwhelming dinosaur. It positively loomed out of the landscape. How they had simply walked into it without noticing it didn’t entirely make sense.

“RUN!”

Running, there was always, far too much running.

He had fainted, twice, definitely – he had vehemently denied this

He was magnetic, irresistible, infuriating. Oh, but when he smile, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him, or to him. She didn’t spend time wondering what he could do with his long fingers.

They raced back to the TARDIS, throwing themselves through the door, skidding to a halt just inside. 

Breathless.

There was a thud and a crunch, the TARDIS gave a mournful sound. Had the dinosaur tried to eat them? 

The Doctor looked at the console, Clara reached past him and entered the co-ordinates for Victorian London, a visit to the Paternoster gang was definitely called for, an opportunity to re-group to...She didn’t cuff the Doctor when she heard him say sotto voce “bossy”.

She couldn’t believe how much she wanted him. “No” wasn’t an option. She wanted this to be “just sex”, hot and hard, meaningless and mind blowing. That was what she was telling herself. He wasn’t dead, he wasn’t gone, and he was hers.

Showering wasn’t an option, showering would take time, later was good. Hot and sweaty was good. She absolutely didn’t ponder when she last waxed, thoughts like that weren’t remotely helpful. Nor was thinking about marking.

Her hands moved to the buttons on his waistcoat.

“I am quite capable of getting undressed myself.” She could see him running through his mind why she wanted him to remove his closing. He looked endearingly befuddled. Standing on tiptoes she kissed the tip of his nose.

“Now where would the fun in that be?” She dragged her finger nails down over his clothes, trailing her fingers over the front of his trousers and cupping him gently (regeneration had definite pluses) – surely he couldn’t possibly mistake her intention? 

Placing a hand in his hair, she pulled him down towards her so she could kiss him. He was utterly still. She peppered gentle kisses along his jaw, against the corner of his lips, down the column of his throat and back to his ear. She carefully teased his earlobe, sucking and gently biting. One of his hands moved to rest on her hip. 

Returning her attention to his mouth she used the very tip of her tongue to lick along his bottom lip and then she bit into the soft fullness. She was almost certain he whined, but he still wasn’t kissing her. Her fingernails scraped across his scalp and she pressed against him more insistently. Finally he moved against her, his mind catching up with what was happening to his body. His fingers curled in her hair, and she was positive he murmured “My Clara,” in between the kisses he pressed against her pulse point. Recapturing his mouth she pressed her tongue against his lips and his mouth opened under hers. The taste of him was indescribable, but she knew she wanted more. It was her turn to whine. She would never get enough of this. 

“Stand still.”

His breath hitched, and she was almost certain he growled.

She worked on removing his clothes, he wasn’t remotely helpful and he appeared to have developed extra elbows. Jacket, waistcoat, watch chain, braces, shirt, undershirt (how many layers did he have), trousers, boots *sigh* - laces....

The outline of him through his yellow polka dot boxers was reassuringly human and pleasingly generous. She had seen him naked before, at Christmas, but that had been the other him. She wasn’t entirely sure she would ever tire of teasing him. Her fingers just ghosted over the outline of him. She didn’t smirk as he arched his hips upwards, chasing, contact, friction, anything. She rested her hands on his hips and slid down his body. She leant her mouth towards him, gently blowing over his obvious arousal. He growled again (the sound did something to her), she closed her eyes and clenched down on that feeling.

Exploring him with her mouth and her hands, he tasted of salt and time and him. He was thin, bordering on gaunt. Muscles shifted under his skin wherever she touched him. A fine dusting of silver hair covered his chest and a darker trail ran down under his boxers. A trail she followed with her fingers, keeping her eyes fixed on his. She followed the same path with her tongue, pausing to kiss and lick and suck. She wanted her mouth on him everywhere at once.

He was still fizzing, popping and crackling with remaining regeneration energy. 

This was escalating rapidly, much as she wanted everything and all of him, now she wanted it to last too, and she wanted him to touch her.

She felt him come.

“Oh my, that was a little disappointing.”

He glared.

Maybe not quite so disappointing, she cocked her head to one side, he was still hard. She could work with that.

 

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

I

Don’t

Think

That

I’m

A

Hugging

Person

Now

She punched him.

He didn’t say out loud how much he had liked the dinosaur.


End file.
